φphiliaφ

Brothers us,
arm and arm,
ale and hearth,
may songs be sung
to ease the dark, fight
the dusts of aging hard
and drifting far and falling low;
of hitting hard and crawling home,
but going home’s so hard alone.
Suddenly from the dusts
a hand outstretched,
uplifting, me, arms
interlocking, our
minds again
smiling;